The Pale Protocol
The ink had not yet dried when the bell began to ring. It was a low, mournful toll that seemed to rise from the very stones of the cellar where I sat, counting the day’s earnings. I am a man of few words, and I find that silence is often a better ledger than speech. But the sound broke the quiet of the workshop, and I knew, with a certainty that felt like a physical weight, that it was time for...
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